


Sonn of Mann

by Adelled



Category: In Plain Sight
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 04:05:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11028276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adelled/pseuds/Adelled
Summary: As Marshall prepares to be promoted to Chief and plans his wedding an old friend introduces him to someone who will change his world.





	1. Missing in Action

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

MARY POV

Monday morning

I scan my card at the security slot of the WITSEC door with an actual bounce to my step. My God, is this what it feels like to have a full night’s sleep? Please God, let Norah sleep through the night again. Soon! For once I don’t feel as if I’ve been dragged through a knot hole.

My eyes go to my partner’s desk. Marshall isn’t there and his computer isn’t on. WTF. Marshall’s never late. Let me try his middle desk drawer. Maybe he left a note. Actually, I’m hoping to find one of his homemade chocolate truffles. Damn. Locked. Doofus can break into my whiskey stash but doesn’t trust me not to trash his desk? Smart man. Maybe he’s out getting breakfast for us. What a wonderful idea. 

What’s Stan looking at? Oh, I ‘m smiling at the thought of breakfast. What’s a matter Stan? I smile. I can smile. Not that I’ve done it much lately. Not a lot to smile about here. Getting a new chief. Sheesh. Chief Marshall? The Mann Chaffee wedding or nuptials as Marshall calls them, are soon. Marshall hasn’t said anything to me but we don’t talk anymore. He knows I despise frou frou wedding stuff. I get enough frou frou talk from Delia on witness visits. Time for coffee. These days I’m stuck with the sludge the office pot produces. 

I think I’ll rattle Stanley’s cage and find out where my so-called-used-to be-but isn’t-anymore partner is. I take a sip and wander into Stan’s office. That’s what happens when you leave the door open Stan. I’d better check out that visitor chair. As the seat compresses it makes a farting noise. Stan looks up but returns his attention to the forms on his desk. Hmph. He’s ignoring me. That requisition he’s working on must be damn important. He signs his name with a flourish and finally looks at me. Stan’s desk always seems to be a big slush pile. Except when Allison Pearson is due for a visit. His mouth is pursed as if he just tasted something bad. Wonder why I see that expression so often?

“Where’s Marshall?” Marshall may not be speaking to me, but I’m not about to pass up a chance to rat him out to Stan so I can twit him about shirking work. 

Stan looks at me sternly. Well as stern as Stan can. “He’s taking a few days vacation.” He nods, squinting slightly and looks me in the eye. He must be serious. I take another sip, covering my own expression of disdain. “It’s about time,” Stan informs me. “Things have been quiet. There aren’t any transfers or testimony scheduled. He’s got a lot going on these days. He deserves some time away.” He doesn’t say it, but I hear it anyway. Away from you.

“Message received, Chief. When will he be back?” Stan pretends to be scrutinizing a page of figures. “He said he’d let me know next week.” That was different. Marshall planned his time off like he planned his witness transfers – no detail too small, nothing left to chance. 

I head for my desk and think about work. Who am I kidding? I’m still thinking about Marshall. He started acting oddly, odd even for Marshall, last Thursday. Someone had derailed his trivia train. Did Abigail cut Chatty Cathy’s cord? 

For the last few months we’ve only talked at work about work. I’ve made a concerted effort to shield him from my concerns about Brandi, Jinx and even Norah. I haven’t liaised with any cowboys. I’m not about to tell him about my sexual dry spell. He and his lady love are probably getting it on every night. What is this world coming to when a geek sees more action than a MILF like me? Things must be getting serious between them because Marshall doesn’t talk to me about Abigail. I wasn’t surprised when they moved in together. I wonder if Abigail knows that I picked their home. 

It’s time Marshall got off the Shannon merry go round. Jinx has been the least of my concerns lately. She really seems to have gotten her act together, but I can’t help waiting for the other shoe to drop. She enjoys teaching the little bun topped tulle bottomed darlings, and I’ve seen them mob her like a rock star. Brandi’s gone, but this time I refuse to track her down. Norah is healthy and seems happy in Joanna’s care. I owe that woman big time. But not enough to marry her son, Norah’s father.

Marshall probably booked some romantic ranch B&B to calm the pre-wedding jitters. Why does the thought of the two of them spending all day riding the range and all night riding each other remind me of morning sickness? I hold my marshal’s mug close to my nose, enjoying the smell. Thank god coffee no longer makes me sick. Get it in gear Shannon. Thinking about Marshall won’t get those reports written. It’s just another day for this Albuquerque WITSEC Inspector.


	2. Mann to Mann

Previous Thursday WITSEC office

My upcoming wedding has made life so hectic, being at work is actually restful. It’s nice to conduct my routine threat assessments without interruption. Mary and Delia are out on witness visits. Pausing the facial recognition search I grab my cell phone before it vibrates itself off the desk. Whose number is that? Doesn’t matter. Inspectors always answer. “This is Marshall.” 

“Marshall? Marshall Mann?” a woman’s reedy voice asks.

“Yes ma’am. How can I help you?” I’m not accustomed to receiving calls from women. Must be something to do with a witness. Some sort of mess to untangle, problem to solve. Helping people make the most of the fresh start in witness protection. I love my job but right now my mind is occupied by the wedding and my pending promotion. 

There’s a pause while the caller clears her throat. “Ma’am? Really Marshal? It’s been a few years but I don’t think I qualify as a ma’am yet.”

I’m smacked with memories of my former critical thinking instructor. My work partner may be sexually liberated, but this woman was insatiable. “Dana?” I stutter. “Uh, Dana Collins?” I hope she is married with tons of kids and not calling to rekindle the flames of our passion. “You’re right; it has been a few years. How...how are you?”

The caller’s high pitched chuckle sounds more anxious than humorous. “Yes, it’s still Collins. I know I haven’t kept in touch. For a literature minor I’m not very good at writing.” Dana pauses, trying to smother a cough. “Marshall. I’m in town for a few days and I’d like to see you.”

“Sure, I guess. What is this about?” Why oh why did my mother train me to always be polite? Why didn’t I just say no, I’m busy. I’m getting married.

“About? Actually, Marshall, it’s about time.”

“Excuse me?” What does she mean by that?

“I just mean it’s about time we got together for a talk, a visit. You know old friends and all that.”

I’m not sure what’s going on but I know there has to be more to this call than just reminiscences. I’m with Abigail now, but she has male friends. I’m sure she wouldn’t be surprised that I have female friends.

While I was considering what to say, Dana had continued talking. “I’m not going to be here long. Just a few days. Any chance we could get together tonight? Would that work?”

“Ah, that could work. What time?” Abigail and I have plans for Friday night, but nothing tonight. This morning she said might not be home till late.

“The earlier the better. I’m not much of a night owl these days. Could you make it before six?”

“Maybe.” I shuffle one handed through the documents on my desk checking for anything urgent. I should have time –barring a witness meltdown. My relationship with Dana was unprecedented. We were intimate, but not close. We did share some interests and some crazy fun times. I’ll never forget when Mary caught us making out in the UNM parking lot. Wonder if Dana is calling for a repeat? Nope, absolutely not. I have a fiancé. A live in wife-to-be. I could never cheat on Abigail.

“We could meet at the Two Fools Tavern,” I suggest. Neutral territory. Lots of people. I could keep a respectable distance from her without being impolite.

I hear another cough. Not the conversational kind, a wet teeth rattling cough. “I’m not much of a drinker. To be honest, I don’t go out much. I’m staying at the Hotel Andaluz. Could you come here?”

I see wildly waving red flags. Danger Will Robinson. The last thing I wanted was to be alone with Ms. Nymphomaniac.

“Umm, I don’t know . . . . “

Dana tittered nervously, probably remembering some of our wild couplings. “Oh Marshall, don’t worry. Not that you weren’t a very good lover, but that’s not why I’m here.” Her voice dropped, and her tone turned serious, “Just come. Please. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Good. We won’t be alone. “All right.” Going to her hotel doesn’t seem a lot to ask.

I clear my desk – and lock it. I can’t trust Mary not to prank my desk. God knows what she would do with the wedding invitations if she found them. I had Funyuns with lunch so I hit the breath freshener as I leave the office for the night. 

I’m at the Andaluz long before 6. It’s in an old section of downtown Albuquerque. The area had gone from high brow to slum and back again as the city expanded and downtown real estate became valuable. Now the Andaluz was what Mary would call hoity-toity. 

Am I really ready to do this? I knock on her door. It’s a suite. The 1939 luxury hotel had modern amenities, but retained its charm. Charm that came with a price tag. Dana must be a tenured professor by now. Professors must make more than I realize. Unless she’s supplementing her income with something illegal or immoral. Sheesh. Been hanging around Mary with her persistent negative view of humanity too long.

While waiting for the door to be answered, I check for exits. My habit of planning alternative routes follows me off the job. Dana opens the door with a tremulous smile and a squeaky “Come in.”

She is thinner than I remember and it seems to take effort for her to stand. Her hair is tied back, and despite the warmth of the hotel, she is wearing a cardigan sweater. She leads me into a living room area. I can see a kitchenette off to the side. Another two rooms open off the living room.

“Would you like something to drink? Have you had dinner? I have some snacks. . . .” she trailed off. 

I want to know the reason for this visit, but I don’t mind a brief delay. Dana is nervous and the additional time might help her relax. “Just water. Water would be good. Thank you.”

“Good. Great,” she quickly responds. “I’ve got that.” I hear the patter of her soft soled flats on the kitchenette floor. 

Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Sandia Mountains from this elevation. No wonder the seating faces the picture window. I never get tired of the desert and its mountains. Dana interrupts my study of the scenery with a cold bottle of water. She sits in a wing back chair. I take the couch facing the window and kitty-corner from her. 

It’s my turn to get this conversation started. “This room has a spectacular view of the Sandia Mountains.” I can name the peaks and canyons. I have ridden many of the trails. But something tells me, Dana wouldn’t be interested.

I get a good look at my hostess and notice a small video screen on the table next to her. I point to the monitor. “Technology has really come a long way.” I lean closer in order to see what is playing.”Is that a nanny cam?”

“Yes,” Dana acknowledges with a bittersweet smile. “But without the nanny.”

“But,” I hesitate, focusing on the screen. I don’t want to call her a liar. “The resolution on this is really good. I ..uh.. I see a woman sitting next to a crib?”

Dana ducks her head revealing a starburst of grey hair and scalp. She takes a deep breath. “She’s not a nanny. She’s a nurse.” She pauses, working up the courage to confess. “She’s my hospice nurse. The doctors wouldn’t allow me to make the trip without her. She doesn’t usually baby sit, but she is helping with my son.”

Oh my God, is that what this is all about? She’s come to say goodbye?

I ignore the fact that Dana has a child. “Hospice? Certainly not you. You look” I stop, realizing she looks far from great. Instead I end with “good.” 

Dana titters and blushes. She looks years younger, but only for a minute. “Always the gentleman. You are very kind. Yes,” she admits, “me.” She looks me straight in the eye, and I can see the fine lines around her eyes and the worry lines on her forehead. “I was diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer 6 months ago. I had to make this trip now.”

Trying to avoid the medical bombshell she’s just unleashed and the presence of her child in the adjoining room, I pick a less serious topic. “Did you have far to travel?”

“Not too far. I’ve been living in Phoenix. My Dad passed two years ago and my mother died last year.” I start to offer my sympathy for her loss, but leave the words unspoken. Her greatest loss is ahead. Dana clasps her hands together to stop them from trembling. “When I get back I’ll be moving into Serenity Hospice. I won’t be there long,” she shook her head wistfully.

Feeling awkward, I offer, “If there’s anything I can do. . . .”

Dana perks up. This is it. What did I get myself into? A genuine smile graces her thin face and I wonder how she can smile with her own death looming. She takes a deep breath. “That’s why I came to Albuquerque. There is something you can do.”

Instead of telling me, Dana heads for the other room. I watch her on the baby monitor. I hear her talking to the nurse but can’t make out the words. Dana goes to the portacrib and rouses the napping child. She must be too weak to pick him up because the nurse lifts him and carries him into the living room.

Dana stops in front of me as the nurse puts the toddler down. He stands on his own, blinking sleepily. He grabs Dana’s leg, hiding. His thumb goes to his mouth. The situation calls for a little self soothing. I wish I could so something as comforting for Dana.

I have to smile at the single blue eye that peeks from behind Dana’s leg. He’s wearing denim overalls and a white short sleeved shirt and socks. He’s just a little taller than Dana’s knee. He must be shy around strangers. My study of the boy is interrupted when Dana clears her throat.

“Marshall,” Dana’s voice wavers. “I’d like you to meet your son, Martin.”


	3. Son of a Gun

Marshall POV

“Marshall,” Dana’s voice wavers. “I’d like you to meet your son, Martin.”

“Excuse me?” I thought she said Martin was my son. She’s tired, confused. She must mean her son. The nurse returned to the bedroom. It’s just the three of us. Dana, me and the little boy.

“Martin, this nice man is your father. Remember Mr. Gary?” The toddler nods. “His son is Toby, and Toby’s father is Gary. Just like Gary is Toby’s father, Mr. Marshall is your father.”

She did say my son? My son? I sit back and my head seems too heavy for my neck. For several long minutes all I can do is look at the ceiling and breathe. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the little boy moving to get a better look at this strange man who is passing out in front of him. He doesn’t know what to think. I can relate.

I lean forward, elbows on knees, so I appear smaller, less threatening. “Hi. My name is Marshall. What’s yours?”

The toddler looks at me then retreats behind his mother. Dana crouches down to talk to him, face to face. “Remember I told you about the nice man we would be meeting today?” It’s shocking to see the vibrant vixen I knew as a mom.

The little boy nods, his eyes shift between his mother and me. 

“This,” she points to me, “is him.” She tries to reassure him with a smile. He’s still wary. Smart boy.

The boy looks at me then turns to his mom. “Really?” he asks hopefully. It sounds like ‘weawy.’

Dana nods. “Uh huh. I hope you two will be friends.” 

“Carolyn,” she calls for the nurse. “Please take Martin to see the fish.” The nurse emerges from the bedroom with a small pair of cowboy boots. I’m entranced by those tiny cowboy boots. My son would choose cowboy boots. She turns to me. “They’ve got an aquarium off the lobby. Martin didn’t get a chance to see it last night.”

Crouching down to Martin she asks, “Do you remember seeing the fishies last night?” The boy nods. “Go with Carolyn and you’ll get to look at them all you want.” She tousles his dark hair and he smiles. “I bet there’s a snack downstairs just for you.” Carolyn helps him with his boots. She seems glad to deal with someone at the beginning of life.

Several shell shocked moments pass as I try to wrap my brain around what just happened. I slow my breathing trying for normal in a world turned upside down.

“When?” I croak, “When did you find out you were pregnant?” My brain is working to retrieve dates, but my voice is barely functioning.

“Almost four months after we had been,” she stops, abandoning the searching for an acceptable euphemism. “I didn’t believe it. I was using birth control. I just couldn’t be pregnant. When I knew I was, I wasn’t sure you were the father. It wasn’t until Martin was born. Once I saw those blue eyes, I knew he was yours.”

If she knew.... “Why didn’t you tell me?” I can barely accept that I have a son, but already I mourn missing his baby days. 

Dana ducked her head. She was never shy so she must be tired. “We didn’t exactly part on good terms, Marshall. In my own way, I loved you. When you dumped me....”

“I didn’t dump you!” I protest.

She stares at me, peeved. “No, you just never called and didn’t return my calls.” I had to admit, it was true. Dana frightened me. “I couldn’t,” I admitted. “Your intensity was overwhelming.” Intense, yeah, that’s better than sex crazed. “I wasn’t ready. When you stopped calling I figured you were no longer interested.”

She stands, walks away then turns. “Be honest Marshall. Despite our mutual interests, you couldn’t see spending the rest of your life with me.” Returning to stand in front of me, she continues. “I understood. Even then, I knew there wasn’t an us.” She looks away, peering into the past. “I didn’t realize I wanted you until I couldn’t have you. And if I couldn’t have you, I could have this piece of you. You are a good man.” She looks up, her expression warm. “Martin is all you Marshall. I am thrilled that he is, was, all mine.”

“Why tell me now?” Thoughts of Abigail, the wedding, my promotion, my parents, Abigail’s parents jostle for my attention. But I firmly push them back. My son was my priority. He’s not in the room but his image is imprinted on my mind. This must have been how Mary felt the first time she held Norah. Everything else seems unimportant. More than anything I want to know him.

Dana stops pacing and sits down next to me. “Martin deserves to know he has a father. Every child should know their father.” Mary. Not knowing her father scarred her, damaged her in ways she’s still discovering.

“You won’t be able to take care of him much longer.” I realized. It’s a hurtful but honest thing to say. I look into her face and am startled to see acceptance and peace instead of sadness and bitter finality.

“That’s why I came now. I’ve arranged for Martin to be adopted.” Adopted? He’s my son. He has a father. He doesn’t need to be adopted. “It’s a couple I know and they are willing to take him.”

Willing? Willing? What kind of commitment is that? Willing isn’t good enough. Raising the sweet boy I just met should be a joy, a gift, a treasure.

I hadn’t given it any thought, but the words came spilling out. “What if I want to be involved? What if I want to be there for him? I am his dad. What if I want to be his dad?”

Dana was lost in her own thoughts and didn’t seem to hear me. “When Martin was born they removed a tumor the size of a football from my uterus.” She smiled fondly, remembering. She giggled. “You should have seen me. I was huge! Martin might have been bigger if he had more room.”

“I was kind of the runt of the litter myself. You’re right though. I should have seen you.” Oh God Dana. If I had known I would have been there for you every step of the way.

Dana protested, “I told you. I didn’t know he was yours. And even if I had known before he was born I wouldn’t have told you.”

“Why the hell not?”

She ducked her head. “I was too embarrassed. An educated woman getting pregnant in this day and age? How stupid was I? I didn’t know antibiotics negate the efficacy of birth control. How could I let this happen?”

Dana regained her equanimity and raised her head. “I quit UNM before I started to show and went to live with my parents. They were getting on in years and could use my help. And” she confessed, “I needed theirs.”

The wistful smile returned. “They were thrilled to have a grandson,” she assured me. “No matter how he came to be, he was their future. Their legacy. And now he is mine.” 

“Dana, Dana. I am so sorry. This is .....”

“Too much to take in?” she smiled wanly. “I understand.” She did seem to understand.

I put myself in Dana’s shoes. She had given up her career. She gave birth and loved her son only to lose both parents and be diagnosed with a terminal disease. “What do you need? What do you expect from me?” I clarified.

“Honestly? I just wanted you to know you have a son. I hope you will consider adding your name to his birth certificate. After a DNA test, of course.” She expects me to require the test. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. My attention wanders. Where can I get a DNA test done? She stopped talking waiting till I’m back. “With your name on the birth certificate, when he’s older, he would know.”

“There’s no father on his birth certificate?”

Dana shook her head sadly. 

“Dana, I can’t...”

“It’s okay Marshall. If you don’t want to do it, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not that. I just need time. I need to ....”

“Digest what you’ve just learned?” Dana asked. “I know you. You are careful, methodical. I understand that you need time to come to grips with this. But I don’t have much time, Marshall. I’m leaving on Sunday.” She isn’t pleading, just stating the facts.

That doesn’t give me much time to figure this out. But I already know I want to see Martin again. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Shaken to my core, I leave a dying woman without an answer.  
*  
*  
*  
Driving relaxes me. Especially driving in the desert. Minimal traffic. Beautiful scenery. Helps me think through complicated issues, and this is as complicated as it gets. The part of my brain that dealt with traffic and stop lights kept me from crashing. I found myself in the Cibola National Forest. It’s peaceful. I pull into an empty campground and put my head on the steering wheel.

Abigail. How would she take the news? She’s been irritable. Every snag in her plans added to her frustration. Must be pre-wedding jitters. Right? Abigail is dealing with the caterer, renting the hall, getting the bridesmaids dresses, and the flowers. It’s a lot. I’ve tried to help, relieve her of some of the tasks. Her mother wanted to help and so did mine, but Abby insisted on doing it all. How will she feel having one more Martin sized thing added to her plate?

Do all brides get like this? There must be some basis for the Bridezilla moniker. 

But it’s not just the wedding hitches that tick her off. I overheard her on the phone berating someone at ABQPD. This isn’t the cheery detective who remembers coworkers names and buys them coffee. She’s even barked at me once or twice. Nothing we couldn’t resolve. Either she apologized or I pretended to forget. I used to depend on her sweet disposition. Now any little deviation from her cast-in-concrete agenda sends her into a tirade. 

I remember when she met Mom and Dad. She was sweet as pie, charming, warm. Mom is an enthusiastic hugger. I knew she had doubts when she patted Abigail’s arm instead. Dad behaved as if he was dealing with a subordinate instead of a future daughter in law. I thought he might whip out the FAIL card. Nothing new there. It doesn’t matter what they think. This is my life. Mine and Abigail’s. Mom and Dad will come around.

After staring at the western sky I know what I have to do. Where’s my phone? “Abby? Meet me at home, as soon as you can. It’s urgent.”

“Sure, sugarbritches.” There are a few seconds of silence. She isn’t used to me giving her orders. “I’ll see you in 30.” 

Was she upset? I’ve never tell her to do something. Never required immediate compliance. And yet she is coming without question. Of course she’s coming. She loves me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dana Collins appears in Season 1 Episode 6, High Priced Spread.


	4. Sonnset

MARSHALL POV

Thursday late afternoon/early evening 

Marshall & Abigail's

I hear Abigail's keys hit the entryway table a little harder than usual The gun safe opens and closes. Good thing she isn't armed for this discussion. I chuckle. It's ridiculous to think my sweet Texan fiancée would shoot me. That was Mary's style.  


"Glad you could get away, hon." I rise to greet her. Her expression is knit with concern.  


“When you called I thought I heard passion in your voice. I figured you wanted me home so you could have your way with me.” She put her hands on either side of my face. “But I can see that isn’t the case.”

This isn't the booty call she thought it might be. But under the worry, there's something else. Frustration? Irritation? Surely I'm imagining it. We've postponed the wedding several times and I know she's wary of another delay.  


"I got lucky honeybunch. We got the perps. With the case sewed up, I could get out of there."  
She puts her arms around me and reaches up to smooth the furrows in my forehead. "You sounded so . . . . It sounded like there was something urgent. Is everyone in your family okay?"

Ah, there's my sweet thoughtful wife-to-be.

They're fine." I put my arms around her and tangle my fingers in her hair. We fit together perfectly."I got some good news today. It will require some changes, some adjustment, but . . . ." 

That's a start, and a hell of an understatement. Abigail is immediately on guard. "Marshall, I am not putting off our wedding again! We are going to be married next month come hell or high water."

I certainly hope so.

She looks me in the eye and asks, "Is it Mary?"

I push her away so I could see her face. Is she serious? "No, why would you say that?" For the last few months every time I have to stay at work or there's a problem with the wedding arrangements, she thinks its Mary's fault. Whenever a female witness calls me, she thinks it's Mary. As far as Abigail is concerned every bump in our relationship or the wedding plans is Mary's fault. We've talked about this time and again, but she continues to blame Mary. This close to the wedding she should be sure of my love. Things happen. Not everything is Mary's doing.

"Around the precinct they said . . . ." she stopped. "The detectives said the only time they saw you distraught was when Mary was hurt or in trouble. I thought it had to be something like that for you to want to talk to me so urgently." I can't miss her rueful grimace and eye roll when she says Mary's name.

"No. It isn't Mary." Under my breath I mutter, "Not that I would know."  
Evidently I didn't say that as quietly as I thought.

"What do you mean you wouldn't know?" Abigail demanded. "You work together, don't you?"

I sigh wondering how to explain the barrier that had descended between Mary and I. "Since you asked me to," I looked her in the eye, trying to convey the sacrifice I made for her. "I've limited the time I spend with Mary. We work separately. Other than the job, she doesn't even talk to me."

I watch her to see if she appreciates the sacrifice I made. Instead Abigail draws back and gives me a sassy smile. "Your office must be much quieter. I bet it's running much smoother. All the rest of the marshals must appreciate that you finally muzzled the bitch.," she smirked breezily. "Everything that comes out of that woman's mouth is sarcastic, demeaning, bitter or profane." 

That used to be true, but not since Norah's birth. Even before Norah I've observed Mary's compassion, quick thinking, good shooting and accurate witness assessments. I miss that. I miss her.

Mary wouldn't mind being called a bitch, but I'm affronted for her. Abigail doesn't notice my grimace of distaste.  


"So, if no one is injured, and you seem fine," she looked me over saucily. "Where's the fire?" She puts her small soft hand around my waist and gives an encouraging squeeze. We can resolve this quickly and not delay the wedding. Again.

"C'mon, sugar britches. You look lower than a gopher hole. You know you can tell me anything."

I'm nervous. When I hesitate, trying to figure out where to start her eyes harden to stony points. 

"It is Mary." She states it flatly as if she had proof. As if it were fact. "That's why you moan her name in your sleep."

I say her name in my sleep? That is news to me. "Abigail," I exclaim. "You think I'm cheating on you with Mary? How in the hell that could that be construed as 'good news?' Don't you hear anything I say while I'm awake?" Exasperated, I clasp her shoulders and grit my teeth forcing her to look me in the eye. "I told you, I barely see Mary. It would be impossible to have an affair when we are seldom in the same place at the same time." I couldn't help it. My voice rose to a shout. I dial it down to a conversational volume. "I chose you, Abigail," I remind her. "I chose you, after knowing you little more than a year. I chose you over my best friend of the last ten years."

What the hell? Is Abigail that insecure? "How dare you attribute any difficulty in your life to  
Mary? She is not the problem here." Despite my efforts, I'm chagrined to find myself shouting  
again.

Abigail is shocked at my anger. She reluctantly nods. "Maybe," she half agrees. "So, what is? What on God's green earth besides that she-devil could have you this upset?" 

Upset? Before the shouting I was my normal calm persona. She devil? Really? If this woman knew me she would understand how much I owe Mary. Being partnered with Mary has changed me, shaped me into the man and marshal I am today. She's not all rough edges. Her pessimism and my optimism complement each other. Mary's brashness and my follow through have made us a stellar WITSEC team. I could tell her about the real Mary  
Shannon, the vulnerable seven year old in a gorgeous womanly body but Mary would shoot me.

She gives me a skeptical look, her brow furrows. She's worried. I had cut Mary out of my life, and it left a painful hole. Putting aside my anger at her accusations, I decide there was no good way to say it, so I took the Mary option and blurted. "A son. I have a son. His name is Martin and he's almost four years old."

"What?" Abigail squeaked. I'd never heard her squeak before. If it wasn't so serious I would have laughed. Disbelief and anger alternate on her face. "What do you mean you have a son? How could you have a son?"

I can tell Abigail thinks this is some mistake. A misunderstanding of terms. She starts talking slowly, quietly as if talking down a jumper on a rooftop. "I know there are many things about your job that you can't tell me, but having a son . . ." She shakes her head. "I thought I knew you. 

We shared everything, our past romantic partners, our families, black sheep and all." As the life altering enormity of my son hit her, she shouted. "How could you have forgotten to tell me you have a son?" Her breasts rise and fall quickly in agitation.

I speak softly, hands still on her shoulders to calm her. "Because I just found out today. Because I just found out," I turn my wrist and check my watch," four hours ago."

She's not the only one who has talked someone off a ledge. I drop my hands, take a step back and hold both her hands in mine. "Remember when we talked about starting a family – the sooner the  
better?" This really is a good thing. She has to see that. "We've just gotten a head start." I smile, hoping she will return it.

Her skeptical look tells me she's not convinced.

"I have done everything to prove my love for you. You are my first priority." I proclaim earnestly. "I asked my best friend, the woman who has saved my life more times than I can count to release me. And she did. You know that. You need to believe it with all your heart because it's true."

I took a deep breath and pause, letting my words sink in. Abigail had to get off her Mary-go-round and confront the reality of my son. She stood still, quiet but confused. Divergent emotions contorting her face.

"Now I need you to do something for me. Show your love. Accept my son as part of our lives, our family."

Abigail didn't seem to hear me. She was still stuck on the fact that I had a son. "How could you not know? Who's the mother? Why didn't you know? Why are you so damn sure you're the father?"

"One question at a time, love" I objected, forcing a warm calming tone. Despite her hurtful accusations, I can't think of Martin without smiling. "Let's sit." I pull her close to me on the couch.

"Let me begin at the beginning." She wouldn't look at me, but her breathing had slowed. Her arms were crossed and her head is down but she's listening. "Years ago I took a course in critical thinking. You know how I was always taking classes at UNM before we met? The TA and I hit it off, but there are rules about instructors dating students, even adult students. A few years later I ran into her and she," I pause, "Let's just say she was still interested."

"She must have been pretty damn interested if you have a child together." Abigail retorted angrily.

I nod. Describing Dana as interested was like calling the ocean wet. 

"We," I stopped, searching for the right word, "uh, dated, briefly. I ended it."

"Ended it? How?" Abigail demanded. She'd dropped her arms, leaning toward me.

"She called, but I didn't call back. Her calls stopped and I thought that it was over." He sat up. "It was over as far as I was concerned, but as it turns out, it was just beginning for Dana."

"Dana," Abigail mouthed her name as if tasting something sour. "You never mentioned a Dana."

"Our relationship was just a blip." I assure her. "She was looking for a good time, nothing serious." And that's what it was. Dana was wild, sexy, unrestrained, inventive and damn scary. She took chances I wasn't willing to take, and the result was Martin.

"She never told you? That's . . . that's unbelievable."

"I know. I find it hard to believe too." Later, when Abigail calms down, I can explain Dana's reasons.

"It's true. She never told me until today." I nodded turning to her.

Like a flash fire Abigail's wonder turns to anger. "Why the hell now? Why the month before our wedding? What kind of slut waits three years to inform the father of her child? Did all the other guys turn her down? Are you the only one to fall for her baby daddy line?" I pull back. Who is this Abigail? Dana didn't deserve this. Once my Southern Methodist grad has the facts, she'll understand.

"Abigail," I implore. "Dana is dying, and she wants to put my name on the boy's birth certificate."

"Dying? Are you sure she isn't lying about that too?" I didn't think it possible for Abigail to be as cynical as Mary.

"She's not lying about Martin. I met him." I stand and look down at her. "My God Abigail, the woman has stage 4 ovarian cancer. Where is your compassion?" I take a few steps back, distracting myself by running my fingers through my hair. I didn't expect this reaction.

"How do you know? Have you acquired a medical degree when I wasn't looking?" She's disdainful as if she's questioning a suspect, not talking to her beloved.

I stop pacing and face her. "I saw her today when I met Martin. You don't travel with a hospice nurse and a trunk full of medication if you're healthy," I yell. "She has cancer," I shout. "It's metastasized. She's already picked a hospice for her last days. You think she's doing that for fun?"

Abigail looks abashed. She may have her doubts, but she should know I'd never lie to her. She crosses her arms again. After a few minutes consideration she looks up at me. "All she wants is your name on his birth certificate?"

"She didn't even ask for that. Dana just said she hoped I would consider doing it. That way if there are any health issues or if Martin decides he wants to know, the information would be there."

Abigail sat back, and let her arms drop. "If he's really your son, I suppose you could do that." she hesitates. "Even if your name is on the birth certificate, no one would need to know. If that's what you want."

"No," I snapped. Doesn't she get it? He's mine. How could I abandon my son? "That's not what I want. He's my son, my SON," I entreat, willing her to understand. "I want people to know he's mine. I want to he take him to school. I want to teach him to ride. You know I've always wanted  
children, but a son? He's a gift. I've already missed so much. We've missed so much." Briefly my imagination wanders to riding - a sturdy pony for him and a spirited stallion for me.

I stretch out my hands, enveloping hers in supplication. "We can bring him into this loving relationship we've built," I urged. "We can give him a family, my family, your family, our family. Something he'd never have if it wasn't for us. Something only we can give him."

Abigail pulls her hands from mine. "Did she ask you to do that? She did, didn't she?"

"No Abigail. No." Abigail has never met Dana but she thinks she knows her. "She didn't ask me to, I want to. I have to. He's a Mann." My final argument doesn't make much sense, but it's true. 

I stand and start to pace again. Surely once we get to know him, she'll see this will work. "That's what we need to do. I don't want him to be raised by strangers. We're his parents." Abigail pushes herself back and looks at me as if I were the stranger.

My eyes seek hers, but she avoids them. "Honey," I rub my hands up and down her arms. "I understand that you need time to grasp this, but we don't have time. Dana leaves the day after tomorrow. We need to tell her we'll be Martin's parents before she gives him up for adoption. Think about it. I know we can be good parents," I plead. "When we have our own children, we'll have some practice, and they'll have a big brother to look out for them. It's darn near perfect."

"Perfect. Right." Abigail drawls out the last word sarcastically.

"Love isn't finite," I remind her. "The more you have the more you can give. I know you can find it in your heart to love this little boy as much as you will love our own child, as much as you love me. Just come with me tomorrow. Meet him. Please."

Abigail lurches to her feet and grabs her car keys. Without another word, she leaves the house. 

Like me, she often drives to put her feelings, her thoughts, in order. And tonight she had a lot to sort through.I return to the couch and gaze at the ceiling praying I know Abigail as well as I think I do.


End file.
